F’ed

When I was new, and hesitant on the night that we first met,

I said I wouldn’t, then did everything I said I wouldn’t.

You were a stranger.

You fucked me in the dark and validated a self long hidden in its own blackness.

When my secret became our secret, and the weight of the world was halved,

We lied with good reason and loved with no abandon

You were a mentor

You fucked me in the dark, and in the light, and it was good, and I was proud, and I was fully me.

When our secret was no longer whispered, but spoken, and spread and known,

We began to build a life, with pictures on the walls, mementos, quiet nights in kitchens, and on sofas, and loud days with friends and on patios.

You were my partner.

You fucked me, and when we made love, I felt a wholeness - the sum of a life’s ambitions, hopes and dreams.

When the golden excitement of novelty and lust dulled to the bronze that is Mondays, and monotony,

I held tightly to a drowning man in a sea of grief, and tried to float for the both of us.

You were my albatross.

You fucked me, over and over again, tearing me apart with every broken promise and poison word, yet I still wore you around my neck, like an expensive set of pearls.

They were fake.

Costume jewelry.

When our days were clearly numbered and the writing was on the wall,

We clung to lifeless bodies, like ventriloquists, and spoke made up words from wooden mouths, in voices not our own.

You were a devil.

You fucked me and fucked me, and fucked me again and I tried to find the love in it, but only dug up hatred.

And as the wrecking ball laid waste to our house, I still lied myself into a mansion.

It has no walls. It has no roof.

It is cold.

You are frozen.

I am fucked.